Irony
by Clecky
Summary: Draco Malfoy didn't want to be known as the sort of deeply sad looser who could only get attention by displaying his bare wristbones to the general public. Especially since it was probably true.


Author's Notes: Every author should have at least one random fit of angst among their writings, right? Well, this is probably as close as I'll get. I'm not quite sure what I was thinking... I'm pretty sure that I started out light-hearted and then got grim-ish. Not bad for my first effort at Harry Potter fanfiction, hopefully.

When Draco Malfoy finally managed to kill himself, he was going to have _words_ with whatever force had kept him, in the memorable phrase, on his mortal coil. Because if he wasn't stone cold dead yet, it wasn't for lack of trying. An important distinction existed in his mind, however, between "kill self" and "harm self". He was stripped of most illusions, but still didn't want to be known as the sort of deeply sad looser who could only get attention by displaying his bare wrist-bones to the general public. Especially since it was probably true.

Ever since Snape had dragged him from Hogwarts after Dumbledore's death and Draco had realized the blatant stupidity of the world and everything in it (including and especially himself), he had been attempting suicide. Off and on, one might say. An occasional hobby. He figured that there might actually be something to live for when Snape started carrying around a beozar or three, against the chance Draco had managed to find/make/buy some dodgy potion. Then he learned that Snape had sworn an Unbreakable Vow to his mother to keep him "safe", whatever the hell that meant, and he regained his cynicism and- apathy was probably the closest real word, though fancifully he termed his emotional state as dispathy. And he had the scare of his life when one of the dodgier potions had turned out to be a vile Muggle drink called "copier fluid" for unknown and unknowable reasons. He wanted to be dead all the way, not to have his extremities lead the way by inches.

Blades? Draco had tried every way there was (and some there weren't) to kill himself with a blade. It was lucky that his skin was so fair and that he avoided the sun (actually he avoided the people who enjoyed the sun, but it amounted to the same thing) because anyone who got a glimpse of his uncovered skin would have been deeply shocked. And appalled. Actually they probably wouldn't even have noticed the scars, because who looked at Draco anyway? But it was a nice, comforting thought, even if patently false. Too bad he had misplaced his ability to lie to himself without his conscious knowledge of the falsehood. Probably why he was trying to kill himself, come to think of it. But of course, someone always came along at the last second to call in backup (to stop him from exsanguinating) in the form of Authority, be it Snape, Pomfrey, or Mother. A short while ago, he had stopped trying to kill himself because it distressed her, but had taken it up again after she was tortured to death for forgetting to put a doily underneath the Dark Lord's scone. The Dark Lord, regrettably, was not as stable as he had been, which was saying something significant.

Draco had gotten some curious looks from the Muggle bookseller when he had insisted that he wanted to learn to tie a proper noose. However, it had come to naught- he had learned of the indelicate condition that hanging usually resulted in and he was still prideful enough (okay, he permitted himself a few deeply cherished illusions- no one would care but him, and he would not be remembered) that he refused to try to kill himself that way. As expedient and classical as it might be. The rope chafed as well, and though Draco wasn't truly hedonistic he did quite like to be comfortable. So hanging was right out.

Next in his wide-ranging experimentation came the broad category of "Spell Damage", including but not limited to transfiguring his heart to lead (a poetical fit of whimsy that landed him in the annals of St. Mungo's history) and levitating an anvil into the sky and letting it fall onto his head (the Ministry was upset with him for doing it in front of Muggles, because of something called a 'cartoon' which sounded completely incomprehensible. And wrong.). The elders at St. Mungo's had taken to handing out copies of his medical file to all new staff members and insisting that they learn his particulars, since he was admitted to the hospital so often and for so many reasons. Oddly, the newbies never believed the elders when they were told "There will be a test on this soon."

The final magical way Draco tried to commit suicide was subtle, indirect, and yet almost certain to work: he stood before the Dark Lord (a capital crime in itself, at that point), called him a sadistically insane despot who was humiliated annually by a schoolboy who couldn't spell his way out of a paper bag, and waited for the Killing Curse. He was not disappointed- except that he _lived_. And unfortunately Harry Potter and company showed up before any of the other various mortal wounds/damages received could kill him all the way. After that, magical ways of committing suicide seemed... anti-climactic. Also, more importantly, they seemed unlikely to work and therefore pointless.

Later, when Draco was tied to a bed in St. Mungo's "recovering", he had time to theorize the whole thing out. Unfortunately his theory implied that the Death Eaters were at best failures and at worst hypocrites (not that he hadn't already known that, of course) that couldn't possibly live up to their name. If the Killing Curse killed by fear- fear of death, the unknown, whatever- then of course it wouldn't have touched Draco, who had sincerely been trying to off himself for months and actively welcomed death. And of course it easily killed those "normal" people who were afraid to die, by turning their fear against them somehow, or intensifying it, or whatever. So the easiest and most painless way to die was to be afraid of it- there was so much irony there that Draco could probably figure out a way to kill himself with it. Somehow. Almost certainly.

Also, being the "Other Boy-Who-Lived"? It was sheerest torture for Draco. Whichever wicked individual first invented the Torture Curse had completely missed the finer points of how to make people _hurt_. A simply physical pain was fleeting and quickly forgotten; being thrust into the limelight at every opportunity by a "grateful public" for living through a curse that he had truly wanted to kill him was just... twisted. No other word was applicable, except perhaps "oddment". Luckily the requests for appearances had mostly stopped since he had slit his wrists during an interview with the _Prophet_. Mungo's had had a easy time fixing that up, more's the pity.

Draco was almost certain to kill himself one day. Legally, there was precedent, especially if he left an Heir to the Malfoy Estate (with capitalization) to stop the different pureblood families from fighting over it, since all had a claim with the possible exception of the Weasleys. And even if he didn't sire an Heir, religious scruples were slim to nonexistent in the wizarding world, so the only objections were from old conservatives who simply grunted, "It weren't tha' way in m'day" and from the doctors who should logically have been relieved at his absence.

It was only when Draco entirely renounced the entire wizarding world and began living as a Muggle that he learned about guns and finally managed to do himself in.

_**Draco Malfoy, 24, died today in a hunting accident when his loaded shotgun discharged without warning while he was looking down its barrels to check for obstructions. He will be remembered as a vibrant, passionate individual who was one of the strongest warriors of the Light, known for taking on impossible missions and getting things done. The funeral will be held at nine am in his home church in Whiltshire, Malfoy Intrinsica.**_

Draco's life was the textbook lesson in irony.


End file.
